


Why Am I Fucking You?

by Besina



Series: My Personal Favs [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack, Dreams, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Reality, Smut, crackfic, meta-fic, problem solving, things I write at 4 am, though really who knows if those last two are even true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 17:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besina/pseuds/Besina
Summary: Apparently this is what happens when the author is trying to write, wants her characters to fuck, but has not one clue what else should happen in the story or how they even got to the fucking to begin with. So we begin with the fucking and nothing else in the universe and things get weird.





	Why Am I Fucking You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shamelessmash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessmash/gifts).



> written by Besina  
> July 21, 2015  
> published August 30, 2017
> 
> This was written and completely forgotten about way back in 2015, and stayed that way until I happened to stumble upon it while trying to sort out the absolute shit-ton of single line plot bunnies I've scribbled down over the years. A few friends read it, chuckled, and convinced me I should post it, so here it is: very cracky, very smutty, pretty meta, and definitely weird. :D

 

“Why am I fucking you?”

“What?”

“Why am I fucking you? Now, this instant?”

John blinked. Sherlock had asked plenty of bizarre questions in his day, but this one had just elbowed its way into fourth place.

“Because... it feels good?” Obvious, but he had the feeling it might not be the answer his partner had been looking for.

Sherlock considered. “Yes. It does. But…” he took a moment to breathe as his hips continued in their rhythm. “Why now?”

“I… don’t understand…?” John looked at him curiously. It did feel good, but that was rapidly dissipating under Sherlock’s mood-killing questioning.

“I _mean,”_ Sherlock stressed, “I don’t remember beginning this. I don’t remember the start of any relationship. Just suddenly, here I am, fucking you: your leg is over my shoulder, you’re moaning, and I’m fast approaching orgasm. Oh, and I can’t seem to stop doing it. Even when we’re talking.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’d kind of noticed that.” John chewed on his lip while Sherlock continued to pound into him. “Come to think of it, I can’t really recall any of that stuff either. Why _are_ you fucking me?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Feels good,” he shot back. “I can remember almost everything for the last week or two, and plenty before that. I’m not certain why I haven’t retained the start of any sort of relationship, much less the beginning of a sexual encounter. Even more baffling is why _you_ don’t, either.”

“You’re sure you can’t stop fucking?”

“Positive. I tried. Not that I’m complaining, though I can see potential difficulties arising, in time.”

“Then that’s what _I’d_ call the most baffling.”

“You may be on to something there. Listen, can we switch places, this pace is somewhat exhausting, and while I seem unable to stop, our discussion _has_ brought me back from the edge of climax rather superbly.”

“Yeah, me too. Here, let me get my leg down. Hold on a sec. Christ, I’m having trouble moving. You know, this would be easier if you could just stop thrusting for a minute.”

“Afraid that’s a no-go. It seems built in.”

“Wait just a sec, I’ve got an idea.” John’s hand snaked in between their bodies, quickly snatching hold of Sherlock’s cock as it withdrew, making the detective give a tiny yelp, then begin fucking John’s fist in earnest.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, looks like I can move now. Apparently you just need to be fucking something.”

“Well, since we are now _mostly_ untangled, shall we get out of bed? I think we many need to call someone.”

They both made their way cautiously to the edge of the bed, John making sure to keep his hand in close proximity to Sherlock’s cock. John moved to back off the bed first.

“I’m stuck.”

“What?”

“I’m stuck. Can’t get off the bed. Something seems to be blocking me.”

“I see no impediment.”

“No, seriously, it feels like some sort of forcefield.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What? And waking up fucking and unable to disengage unless there’s a fist on your cock isn’t?”

“Point taken.”

To work with the logistics of getting Sherlock to the edge of the bed, and John back from it, while simultaneously allowing Sherlock continuous fucking rights to John’s fist, took a little doing.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Your hand is a bit dry.”

“And?”

“I’m afraid I might begin to chafe.”

“Well I’ll get right on that as soon as you satisfy yourself as to the existence of said forcefield. Even though you _could_ have made things easier and taken my word for it.”

“I could, but first-hand experience is bound to give me more information.” Sherlock worked himself to the edge of the bed, trying to roll off. With no success. He tried another spot, then another, all with the same result.

“It’s blocked.”

“Which is what I said thirty minutes ago. Any more information, genius?”

“I see no physical boundary. It seems to be a forcefield.”

John groaned.

“John?... It really is most desperately dry.”

“Fine. Wait. Just let me…” He contorted himself to reach over to Sherlock’s bedside table. “You’ve got some in here after all of this, don’t you?”

“Hm? Yes, of course.”

“Good to know you wank just like the rest of us, I suppose.”

“The current situation would suggest that I do it nothing like the rest of you.”

“I have a hard time believing I’m arguing the difference at a time like this, but this is technically a hand job, not a wank.”

“How is it different? It’s a hand and a cock. People have called this ‘wanking someone off’.”

“It’s _my_ hand and _your_ cock: two different people, Sherlock; much different sensation than solo.”

“Could you hurry up with that lube please? This is getting highly uncomfortable.”

“Yet you’re still hard.”

“That is troubling, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” John dribbled a good amount of lube over his hand, working it inside to slick along Sherlock’s penis.

“Oh god, that’s better,” Sherlock sighed, melting into the mattress.

“Sherlock? You’re not really helping here by just turning boneless.”

“Mm?” Sherlock replied.

_“This isn’t helping!”_

“It’s not harming, either.”

“I’d beg to differ, Sherlock: my arm feels like it’s about to fall off! A thirty, make that _forty-minute_ hand job is not exactly standard.”

“Oh. Sorry. What do you suggest we do?”

“Another position would be nice…”

“Obviously. And while I can go back to fucking you again, it too, is bound to get uncomfortable after a while, especially for you. Fucking your mouth is an option, though it would impede discussion.”

“You’re sure you can’t stop?”

“Almost positive, but you’re welcome to try another position if you want.”

“Well, we do seem to need to be touching in a sexual manner to be able to maneuver at all.”

“True.”

“Here, try this. Get on your side.”

Sherlock rolled onto his side, facing John, whose arm was beginning to ache like mad.

“There. Good. Now _I_ turn… And…” John wedged his cock up against Sherlock’s, extracting his poor arm. Their hips now seemed welded together and they were rutting against one another, the slick from the lube expediting things. John reached between them once more, wiping the excess off on them. “Only one bottle, gotta save what we can.”

“Forward thinking. John? We’re either in a dream or a drug-induced hallucination.”

“It does seem likely - at least it explains all the weirdness.”

“The problem is, I can’t figure out if it’s yours, or mine. It’s statistically unlikely to be both of ours.”

“Doesn’t matter,” John said smugly, a light coming on behind his eyes.

“You’ve got a solution.”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“Doesn’t matter, because this is a sex dream.”

“Okay.”

“And what happens right before any sex dream ends?”

“Ohhhh…”

“Yeah, ‘Oh.’ One of us has got to get off.”

“As we don’t know whose dream, I’d suggest both of us.”

“Right.”

Silence descended, apart from tiny huffs and grunts, as the two worked themselves together, trying to ignore everything else and bring themselves to the peak.

“Of course, there’s the off chance that it’s someone else’s dream… and a hallucination might not end directly after orgasm. They’re tricky things. You may just sprout a horse head or something. Come to think of it, this has the potential to be very disturbing.”

“I’m getting off with my flatmate. It’s _already_ disturbing.”

“Not half as disturbing as if you were a horse.”

“Okay, yeah, got me there. Now shut up and try to come.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my crazy brain.
> 
> My official Tumblr, though I'm not on it much anymore, is [here](https://besina.tumblr.com/), though be warned, it is absolutely NSFW.
> 
> Please do not make this fic available through any other means.  
> Permissions for other uses are listed on my profile page.
> 
> Earn my everlasting devotion with a comment! (What can I say? I'm cheap.)


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